


Make You Mine

by ghermez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji is Bad at Feelings, Bokuto deserves kisses, Fluff, Fukurodani team has a unique new way of cheering up their ace, Happy Ending, M/M, it's by slapping his ass...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25305055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghermez/pseuds/ghermez
Summary: Fukurodani members (and others) have a unique new way of cheering on Bokuto. (Akaashi is both alarmed and jealous.)For as long as Akaashi has known it, Bokuto has been his. Just as much as he feels tethered to Bokuto’s star, tied around the waist, following him to the end of the world if he needs.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 54
Kudos: 225
Collections: Haikyuu





	Make You Mine

Akaashi has always prided himself on his keen sense for detail. It is partially the reason why he notices this new phenomenon that the Fukurodani players are engaging in. At first, it baffles him since it doesn’t seem a very viable method of cheering their ace. Matter of fact, quite the opposite. The first person to do it, awkwardly, briefly, and entirely too stiff to seem like the idea originated from his mind, is Washio. After one of Bokuto’s usual bouts of don’t set to me, Akaashi, I’m not worthy, rather than leave it to Akaashi to find the key to unlocking Bokuto’s dilemma, Washio…slaps Bokuto’s ass. The sound rings quite loudly in the gymnasium and for a second all Akaashi can do is gape, dumbfounded, at his teammates.

Bokuto, rationally, fumes and turns to Washio with an expression of pure rage, to which Washio raises his palms and admits he’s at fault. There, due to his usual level of competence and level-headedness, Washio manages to escape Bokuto’s rage and in a way, erase all signs of the ace’s usual dejectedness.

While Akaashi stands in his spot, rooted to the ground, and wonders if his eyes are beginning to fail him completely. He’s always been quietly happy that he’s never needed to change from contacts to glasses, but now he reconsiders.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto calls out, and so he shakes himself out of his stupor and resumes thinking fifteen thoughts per part of a second. It’s really the only course of action to make.

Later, as they’re wrapping up practice—one hundred serves!—Akaashi looks sideways, and finds Washio cornering none other than Konoha, the usually calm façade Washio wears turning stormy. He knows Washio would never instigate violence, so he looks away and takes deep gulps from his water bottle. He thinks of dinner and wonders if he’s gained any muscle that month.

Except his brain never stops replaying the image of Washio’s hand meeting Bokuto’s ass cheek. The sound alone was glorious. He wonders briefly if Bokuto still feels the sting. His blood cools in his veins as he considers whether it has left a mark. He can’t justify it, but he glares at the ground.

Fukurodani members have never been the overly familiar type. Sure, they sort of worked like a dysfunctional family with most of the third years as Bokuto’s disgruntled older brothers, Akaashi as the unfortunate caretaker, and the young first years as the hopeless kids, but still. It baffles him how that came to happen. He still doesn’t believe it was Washio’s idea, and seeing the way he cornered Konoha points all fingers to the jack of all trades.

What baffles Akaashi the most is the fact that the ass slap, used to burst Bokuto’s negativity bubble, worked. And it continues to produce good results. He knows this because it becomes a habit.

It’s practice again—do they do anything but practice?--and as Akaashi's wiping down the sweat on the back of his neck, he notices how Konoha, whilst in the process of cheering up Bokuto for missing five serves, casually slaps Bokuto’s ass. It’s not as loud and dramatic as Washio’s from a couple of days ago, but the effect ripples through them.

He takes a double take, swallows back the mouthful of tepid water, and frowns. The look on Konoha’s face isn’t triumphant, or hesitant, he seems more bemused, like he has conducted an experiment. The entire team pauses and watches Bokuto’s reaction. But…he doesn’t question Konoha like he did Washio. Weirdly enough, Bokuto doesn’t react in any usual way—rather, he beams. It’s full on and bright and great. It is a sign of an ace in a good mood. Akaashi is still perturbed by what he’s just witnessed even as practice resumes. While Washio looks apologetic, Konoha now looks satisfied. He can’t help but think: have the two always been close?

Over the next couple of days, Akaashi’s mind never stops whirring. It begins to catalogue every encounter Bokuto has with the members, filing lingering touches on his arm, ringing in alarm when someone’s hand gets close to his lower back. He tries to calm himself, remember that getting a panic attack because someone might slap Bokuto’s ass again is terribly unnecessary. They have training camp with three other schools in a matter of weeks, and he needs to be in his top form.

He tries to catch Konoha in the act again, but all evidence of the ass slapping disappears. Konoha is back to advising Akaashi to ignore Bokuto’s mood and being his usual efficient self during practice games.

The issue can—and should—be swiftly swiped under the rug but not to Akaashi. He isn’t the type to forget. Not when Bokuto happens to be the person at the center of his world. It was hard to admit it to himself, at first, that the reason he finds himself immersed in the sport is because of wanting to make one person happy, but once he came to the conclusion, it made far too much sense to ignore. Someone like him, who thrives on logic, cannot ignore it.

Akaashi has known since the first moments of seeing Bokuto fly in the air to crush his opponents that he has been falling in love.

The team prides itself on its ace, but also on how consistent and strong they are even when Bokuto gets into a funk. Akaashi, however, can’t see a future without Bokuto’s star in its center, so when Konoha tells him, “Don’t mind him, he’ll come around,” after a particularly nasty set versus Nekoma during the summer training camp, he has to disregard his senpai’s words.

He chases Bokuto as far as the outdoor water spouts where the managers refill their water bottles. He sees Bokuto slump, drop into a crouch by one faucet, then let out a deep sigh. He’s drawn to him like a moth to a light, eager to find a way to rejuvenate him. They have three more days of the training camp, the last thing the team needs—Akaashi needs—is a down on his luck ace. Yet, before Akaashi’s mind can come up with a contingency plan, a tall figure enters the picture. There’s no mistaking the lanky Nekoma captain, and while he often knows which of Bokuto’s buttons to push, Akaashi isn’t sure that it’s what Bokuto needs that very minute.

“What’s wrong, Bo?” Kuroo’s saying, his expression has turned into one of concern, which isn’t unlike him—but he’s much more suited with a grin than a frown.

Akaashi fidgets, wonders if he should go back, but stays to watch over Bokuto. After all, Bokuto is his ace, he couldn’t abandon him at his lowest.

He watches Kuroo and Bokuto exchange words, the first sympathetic to the latter’s complaints about his form. It clearly bothers Bokuto to admit weakness, but he does it, clenching his jaw and staring somewhere faraway behind Kuroo’s head of wild hair. Akaashi has half a mind to walk over there to drag Bokuto inside and take his mind off of the game. It doesn’t matter how many times he misses the serve; he’ll get it once he practices enough. Isn’t that how he got good at the line-shot?

Kuroo moves, Akaashi presumes it’s to tease Bokuto, then he moves in a way that makes an alarm ring out in Akaashi’s head. Rather than Washio’s shocking smack and Konoha’s playful slap, Kuroo’s method of cheering up the ace is slower and includes far more touching than Akaashi bears to watch.

He begins by wrapping an arm around Bokuto’s waist, pulling him closer, then he slides his hand down to the rise of Bokuto’s pert ass, then he gives it three solid taps. Kuroo’s hand lingers long enough for Akaashi’s cheeks to warm up.

There’s nothing he can do in his position. Storming over there and dragging Bokuto away would simply make him seem explosive. Akaashi is never explosive. Outwardly, anyway. Inside, he stares. He sees the way Kuroo languidly lets go of Bokuto’s waist, giving his shoulder a solid squeeze. That part could be anywhere from friendly to casual. Bokuto turns his face towards Kuroo, cheeks dusted the same shade as fluttering rose petals. Something in Akaashi cracks. There can’t be something there, can there? Sportsmen did that sometimes. Touching wasn’t a foreign concept.

Bokuto seems to have shed every evidence of his frustration, giving Kuroo a bright grin. The sight twists something bitter and hot inside Akaashi’s stomach, and he has to run back inside before he does something unforgivable.

Akaashi glares at the rooster-head of Nekoma’s captain and middle blocker for the rest of the day. It makes Kuroo look a little hesitant at times, but Akaashi maintains his expression and ignores all of Kuroo’s attempts to smoothen the weird crinkle between them. There is simply no way he’ll reveal how perturbed he is concerning the whole Kuroo-and-Bokuto-Might-Be-Dating issue at hand. It chips a little at his heart, fragile and overworked as it is, and Akaashi has a bit too much pride to admit he’s hurt.

It isn’t like he can take a break and go hide in the hills surrounding Shinzen High.

Or can he?

The team is on a break for lunch, so Akaashi takes a little mid-day break. He snags a bottle of water and climbs the hill. He's seen the Karasuno guys sprint up and down so energetically after every loss. He admires their tenacity, and as his thighs burn sweetly, wonders if they are a bit as critical of themselves as he is, whether putting themselves through the punishment is their way of atoning for their loss.

He stares up at the sky, tries to make sense of the way clouds cluster and move in harmony, and ponders whether anyone can truly live a state of self-satisfaction. It has been two years of this grueling life and somehow, he’s managed to keep his grades a cut above the rest. Nobody really requires him to go above and beyond in his duties for the club, but Akaashi has always been his first critic. He can’t sit back and do anything halfheartedly. It isn’t in his nature.

Despite how he looks, he always feels like there is a storm brewing in his mind, barely seconds away from breaking him apart from the inside out. He’s done well on managing it. He hides the nervous tics and the way anxiety keeps him up at night before exams and major tournaments. His parents never have had a reason to worry, and he doesn’t need them to start.

Nothing has managed to wriggle under his skin. Taunts he is masterful at ignoring, nerves that he’s not as good as every other setter in the nation can be dealt with. But he’s never had to face the reality that this hopeful bud in his heart might get crushed.

He's never considered sharing Bokuto with someone before.

His feelings have existed in the recesses of his mind. Present but quiet. He wonders if that is how his mind has kept him sane all this time. In order to cope with just how deep he’s managed to fall for Bokuto. Yet, what he’s witnessed today has managed to slip a knife right under the edge of that corner where he shoves all of his feelings and is prying it open.

He grabs a handful of grass, feels the dirt of the ground sinking under his fingernails, then tosses it aside. He thinks briefly of how he can also scatter in the wind. A couple of ants are climbing his shins, but he doesn’t move to swat them away. It’s a tingling sensation, and he focuses on it for as long as he can, letting the air ruffle his hair. He lets his eyes close and his head tilt back.

He blinks when Bokuto calls for him, voice clear and strong, “Akaashi! Where did you go?”

There’s dirt on his shorts, but he dusts it off weakly—he has enjoyed being part of nature for a little while, letting his body and mind surrender to his surroundings rather than try to be in control all the time. Yet the reminder of who awaits him at the very literal bottom of the hill jolts him awake. He can never be truly free from his feelings.

Not as long as his heart leaps and beats for Bokuto.

  
  


The day goes by as smoothly as it can. Bokuto doesn’t experience more let downs and surprisingly keeps his mood uplifted through the rest of their sets. Then again, their games against Karasuno always make Bokuto feel rejuvenated and empowered. Akaashi knows it has everything to do with the first years—the short, fiery one who looks at Bokuto like he hangs the moon, stars, and entire solar system with the strength of his arms, and the reticent one in glasses who doesn’t seem to care that his arms can be snapped in half by Bokuto’s spikes.

Akaashi tries to look at the boys without the bitterness coating his tongue. He’ll never have this raw talent. Even the lanky one is gifted. Height and intelligence that shines behind his glasses. Akaashi feels sorry for people like himself who have to beat their bodies into reacting quickly, thinking faster than anyone else, and doing a good job. In the end, he’ll never see the future people like Hinata Shouyou will glimpse one day.

There is no choosing to accept Bokuto’s demand that he stays for more practice, it’s simply the way things go. He is aware of Kuroo in the periphery, shouting pseudo-encouragement at the Nekoma silver-haired middle blocker.

“Akaashi! Toss to me!” comes Bokuto’s incessant prompt, and he braces himself to do just that. His shoulders are feeling the effort of keeping up with Bokuto’s well of energy, and he’s breathless, so he dips out to get a refill. He grabs Bokuto’s bottle on his way. The summer air smells distinct here, and Akaashi stands by, watches the water fill up the bottles, and wonders when Bokuto will tire and let them go for dinner. He might not be the biggest eater, but he’s been trying to build more muscle and that means more food.

When he comes back, he finds Bokuto and Kuroo, standing close, heads tilted, scheming, and his heart squeezes in an uncomfortable way. He rubs at his chest, absently wondering if he’s coming down with something.

The end of the summer practice is bliss and hell all wrapped in one.

Akaashi can’t sleep much at night, which forms dark bruises under his eyes, worrying both his parents and the coach. The first he promises it’s just the pending games, and the second doesn’t need his excuses. He knows it’s bad for him, but when he lies down, his mind refuses to shut down, so he stays awake anyway, phone in hand, watching games and taking notes. Besides, lying down only replays the scene of Bokuto wrapped in someone’s arms. Every rerun of that embrace turns it more intimate and agonizing.

At least, he thinks, I don’t have to see it again.

The next day at practice, Bokuto blows a proper fuse, Akaashi has lost count of how many times he has had to de-escalate, and all his sleepless nights have been stacking up, causing him a twinge in his neck and a sharp ache behind one eye. Yet, before he can begin to assess the situation, Sarukui hurries to Bokuto’s dejected form in the corner of the gym and helps him up, lifting him under the arms.

“Now, now, that’s no way for our ace to act, right?” he says, then, as casually as ever, pats Bokuto’s ass.

Something snaps in Akaashi. He drops the ball in his hands and takes a sharp exit out of the gymnasium, ignoring how the team calls after him.

He’s breathless by the time he stops running, his lungs burning and head swaying. He knows he’s in the wrong for sprinting out like that, but he can’t make his body turn back. He can’t. there are far too many holes in his wall right now, and if he sees someone touch Bokuto, he just might go berserk.

It terrifies him—this beast in his chest that looks at Bokuto and wants to sink its teeth into him. It’s irrational yet it’s Akaashi’s only constant voice. His monstrous companion.

He loops back into the club room, finds it empty and makes quick work of changing out of his clothes. Going back is unviable, so he’s slipping off his sweat soaked T-shirt and dressing in his button up uniform shirt when the door cracks open.

He doesn’t bother to turn, and can identify whose footsteps walk into the room. His body reacts anyway, conditioned to pay close attention to him.

Akaashi turns to face him. Bokuto stares, eyes wide and golden, and Akaashi’s stomach plummets. He doesn’t want to talk about what conspired in the gym. How this anxiety that he’s losing Bokuto to others has turned him into a sleepless wreck.

But they don’t need words. Bokuto closes the distance between them with sure steps until he stands close enough for Akaashi to touch. He puts his hand on Akaashi’s arm, and he nearly faints from the contact. He’s relieved and disgusted with himself all at once, moving away before he knows it but Bokuto follows him, arm stretched out still, trapping Akaashi by the wall of lockers.

Ah, his mind registers, belatedly, this is what they call a kabedon.

“Bokuto-san,” he says, but it is all pointless. Akaashi has fallen, and there is no saving him, not from his erratic thoughts and definitely not from the unforgiving monster rearing its head.

The last of his reserve snaps when he sees the hurt coating Bokuto’s sunshine, throwing him into shadows in which he doesn’t belong.

He kisses Bokuto before he knows what he’s doing, awkward and forceful, feels Bokuto’s teeth behind his lips but keeps going, his hands coming up to palm Bokuto’s face and keep him close until he can get a proper taste of him.

It's salty, he thinks, then realizes he’s being kissed back. Bokuto is giving with a fearful sincerity, body poised against Akaashi’s, pressing into him from chest to groin. Akaashi whimpers. It’s his first time being kissed like this—his first time being kissed at all, and he fears he will embarrass himself if he doesn’t escape. But there is no running away from Bokuto. He pins Akaashi down without laying a single finger on him.

“You—” he pants, letting go of Bokuto. His fingers shake but he hides them behind his back, worried he might do something worse. Like go for a repeat.

“Is that why you’ve been so… so… so unlike yourself?” Bokuto pierces right through his wall of insecurity, giving Akaashi nowhere to hide his pitiful feelings. “Akaashi, look at me.” Akaashi opens his eyes. When did he close them? He’s never seen Bokuto look this way, pained and unsure, not about him and not out of the court. An upset Bokuto is a temporary issue, something fixable. Akaashi knows how to deal with Bokuto in his low moods, but not this time. Not when it looks like Akaashi’s the main reason behind Bokuto’s frown.

“I’m sorry,” he hisses, then tries to escape the wall of sinew and warmth trapping him. Except Bokuto doesn’t let him. He presses in closer, harder, forcing Akaashi to tilt his head all the way back just to look at him in the eyes.

Bokuto enfolds Akaashi’s face in one hand, and for a bleak second, Akaashi wants to lean into it, tip his head towards that warm palm and kiss it for being so kind to him when he can’t be kind to himself. But he holds himself back.

“What’s wrong, Akaashi? I don’t… I don’t recognize you. Why are you running away from me?” Bokuto sounds so grim, as if this is the end of the world for him. Akaashi has been running away from himself for far longer. He’s just been so good at acting like he’s fine. He can’t tell if he’s jealous or indignant by Bokuto’s simple-mindedness. Not anymore. He will not hide and bottle his feelings.

“Because you keep letting boys touch you! Because everywhere I look, you’re surrounded and it’s like you don’t need me anymore. Like I don’t have to think of fifteen different possible results for every action I make around you. Like… like…” he begins to run out of steam. “Like I’m not the one able to solve your puzzle.”

Bokuto goes from agonized staring to dumbfounded in the span of three sentences. He pulls away, but not far enough that Akaashi has much space to walk away. Bokuto blinks, and Akaashi can’t read what goes on in his mind at all. Not like usual. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing.

“You…” Bokuto’s voice trails off, and to Akaashi’s shock, he turns bright red. It’s embarrassment unlike anything he’s seen on the ace’s face before. “You saw that! It’s all that damn Konoha’s fault! He kept—! Akaashi! Don’t look like that!”

He doesn’t know how he looks, but he’s boiling inside, reminded all over again that people (plural!) have had their hands on Bokuto. On Bokuto’s ass!

It isn’t even a matter of who came first, Akaashi doesn’t believe he’s that petty, but it’s a matter of who gets to calm down his ace, who gets to understand what he needs in the heat of the moment. For as long as Akaashi has known it, Bokuto has been his. Just as much as he feels tethered to Bokuto’s star, tied around the waist, following him to the end of the world if he needs to.

The thought that this might change makes him want to be sick.

So, he lets the words out. “I don’t want you to be touched by anyone but me. I don’t want anyone to cheer you up like I do.”

“Okay,” Bokuto replies without a hesitation, the speed of his reply nearly gives Akaashi whiplash.

Okay? As simple as that?

“Do it then,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi cannot grow more confused than he is at that moment.

“What?”

“Slap my ass.”

He blinks. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious. Akaashi, go ahead. Slap my ass because I definitely need it and I’d prefer it if it’s coming from you.”

Rational sense rushes back into Akaashi’s mind, calms him down, talks him down from that proverbial ledge. “All right, Bokuto-san. You’ve made your point. I don’t think doing that will be necessary.”

Bokuto’s body relaxes, slumps to Akaashi’s side, his face coming to rest on his shoulder. “Finally, you sound like my Akaashi again.” It doesn’t help that he punctuates that sentence—my Akaashi—with a look through his eyelashes; like he is some maiden. And that is how Akaashi knows that no-one could peer into his soul like Bokuto does. See his warring errs and still find the gem underneath.

He feels no shame in how he trails a finger across Bokuto’s jaw, feels the steel of his facial structure push against the pad of his index, then tilts Bokuto’s face close, tasting the sweetness of Bokuto’s smile. He put it there, and he has every right to kiss it. So, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be this ~melodramatic~ but, oh well. I guess teen-angst got to me. Thank you, Chedoani for being such a lovely commentator on GBBK.
> 
> you can find i'm on twitter as [@kuroosauce](https://twitter.com/kuroosauce) where I'm crying over HQ ending in 2 days!


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